Slaughterhouse
by Surplus Imagination
Summary: Daryl knew just where he had been taken. He knew it well. The room smelled like sanitized death. Tag to 5.01 No Sanctuary


_Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended._

_AN: Season 5 so far has been terrifying and wonderful. My hat is off to Greg Nicotero for this episode. _

_I've enjoyed the many takes on No Sanctuary. Here is mine. It's a little on the dark side. I hope you enjoy!_

_**Slaughterhouse**_

When the smoke cleared, Daryl knew exactly where they had been taken. From the stainless steel trough, to the clear plastic aprons, there were absolutely no mysteries. The taint old blood mingled with disinfectant, emanated from the floor, the walls, and the people. The place stank of death.

_Slaughterhouse._

One of the worst jobs Merle had gotten them into was a week-long stint at a meatpacking plant. Daryl had worked alongside wetbacks and felons, cleaning out the blood vats and parts bins, for under-the-table wages. He and Merle were one of those people desperate enough for some cash, not to complain about the working conditions, or the low wages, in exchange for staying under the radar. That week had been hell. Even though Daryl was used to gutting his own meat, the smells and cruelty in that place haunted him still.

_Oh, you got yourself into some big trouble, little brother. Big trouble. You've been treed like a coon._

Daryl struggled as the assholes hanging on to his arms, dropped him hard to the evil smelling floor. He was trussed up and couldn't move well. It didn't stop him from looking, though.

Through hair saturated with sweat, Daryl caught sight of the plastic zip ties securing Rick's hands and feet. Clenching his own fists, he could feel the bite of the unyielding plastic breaking the skin of his wrists.

They were so screwed. Those plastic zip-ties were practically impossible to escape. This weren't the first time he had been tied up like that. Last time he couldn't get out, even after being left that way for hours. Feeling helpless and more than a little morbid, Daryl couldn't help but wonder who would clean up the blood and the parts after them. He'd have to make sure he would leave a mess.

The asshole with the cap forced him into a kneeling position next to Rick. Helpless for the moment, Daryl scanned the room for options, anything that could help. He took in tables of blades. He registered hooks overhead. He saw neatly labeled bins. Orderly. Clean. It was creepy as hell.

Was that a dead body on the table? Why the hell was it naked? Why was that poor dead asshole in pieces? What kind of sick people were these? Daryl figured they'd want them dead, but this? The pieces clicked in his mind instantly.

_I hear say it tastes like chicken. You about to get Kentucky Fried, bro._

Daryl fought down rising panic as they drug Glen in and shoved him into place on Daryl's other side. The kid was holding it better together that he thought. Tough son-of-a-bitch, Glen was. Damn good in a fight, too. Glen didn't deserve this, not like himself.

Beside him, Rick was still. Scary still. Preternaturally still. He oozed focused calm, while Daryl felt his fear like a live thing clawing at his guts. He wanted to puke.

Preternatural? Where the hell did that thought come from? That was a word that Merle would use. Boasting a tenth grade education, Merle delighting in learning big words with excessive syllables. Daryl calmed his breathing and considered. Welcomed the distraction. Waited for Merle to toss in his two cents, but Merle was gone. Long gone.

No, the word was probably from having to listen to that blowhard with the mullet go on and on. Daryl didn't trust the words spoken by a man with baby soft hands. It was obvious that he was full of shit.

Four more guys were drug in, one by one. He watched the human cattle being positioned, poor sorry bastards. Daryl flexed his hands rhythmically as he felt the circulation being choked off. His heart beat a staccato at his fingertips. He needed to calm down. Be in control.

Forcing his ragged breathing to slow, Daryl was intensely grateful that none of the women, or Carl, had been brought in. Maybe they'd have a chance. The men down the row were all panicking, like that did any good. The towhead at the end stared down the trough at Rick in amazement. There had to be a story there, not that it mattered.

Goggles guy started swinging a baseball behind them, warming up. Daryl could hear the asshole's shoulder pop. Glen must have caught on what was happening because his breathing really picked up. Rick's did not. If anything, Rick got even more still.

Daryl flicked an eye down at the man, careful to not turn his head. No, Rick wasn't still. His hands were moving. Something was up. Rick had a plan.

Of course Rick had a plan. Man always had a plan. Then Daryl had to have his back. Had to be ready. Had to get loose. Had to….

_**Whap**_

The sound startled Daryl, sending his heart racing. Stunned, he and everyone else in the line, turned their heads just in time to see the blood gush from the towhead's slit throat, to pound against the metal sides. The sound was horrific. The sight terrifying.

_bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood_

A shiver rippled down Daryl's spine as he tested his bonds again_._ He bit down on the gag and started to gnaw. If he could get his mouth free it would help. Rick showed him just what he could do with teeth. Anything could be a weapon. Anything.

_**Whap**__….spray…._

He couldn't stop the flinch that rippled through his body. The assholes were moving down the line fast. Daryl willed Rick into action. Willed him to move.

_He's your brother, but he's not good for you._

Carol's voice filtered into his head, just as he tasted blood in his mouth. The gag cut into his cheeks as he chewed through the cloth. He ignored the coppery taste.

_No, _Daryl thought as he worked harder. _Rick's a good man._

_He has no honor. He threw me out. He threw me away. He's going to get you killed._

_**Whap**__….spray…_

Glen was next.

_Nononononononono_

Daryl struggled even harder. Felt the skin at his wrists split and bleed. He caught sight of Rick palming something long and hard. Hope flared.

_Rick's a good man_, Daryl told Carol in his head. _He'll get us out of here._

_You have such faith. You're a good man. Better than him._

_Stay safe_, he whispered through the gag as her voice faded away. _Be safe._

Daryl strained to hear Carol's answer, but she was gone. Long gone.

_**Whap**__….spray…_

Interruption?

Daryl frowned as the guy with the clipboard demanded information. It was the same guy as before. The leader. The Charles Manson wannabe. Daryl welcomed the respite as he tried to judge the distance between the baseball bat and Glen's head.

They were being saved by... procedures?

They wanted counts?

The hell? They were being slaughtered by bean counters? It he wasn't about to die, Daryl would have laughed. F'ing ridiculous!

Then Bob started to yammer. Daryl could care less what the man was saying, but it was giving Rick time to work harder on getting loose. Daryl was pretty damn sure he was making progress. Meanwhile, Goggles Boy was warming up again.

Glen was next. They were gonna bust his head and slit his throat. Daryl swallowed back bile and thought hard. He had to buy some time...give Rick time...keep the bat from Glen. He wracked his brain for ideas.

Maybe he could spring back and knock the asshole off his feet. Get between him and Glen. If he was lucky, maybe get a knee on that guy's throat. Break his neck. Do it slow.

Daryl fantasized all the ways he could kill while the guy grilled Rick about the bag of guns. He kept one eye on the bat and the other on Rick. He would be ready. He _was_ ready. Daryl flexed the muscles in his legs getting them ready for action. He wondered if he could-

The room rocked.

Dust rained on them from the ceiling.

The would-be butchers died a messy death.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

Rick had saved them.

As Daryl lay on his side waiting his turn to be cut loose, his vision was drawn to a narrow space between the trough and the floor. It was a small slit backlit by a reflection of sun off metal. Daryl could see a tiny object left forgotten under the stainless steel slaughter trough. It was small and pink and covered in blood.

It was a baby's pacifier.

_Binky_, his mind supplied. It was just like the one Lil' Asskicker used to have. Rage blackened his soul as Daryl realized that everyone would have died. Men, women, children …. even babies. No one would have been safe. No one.

Later, Daryl felt like what had happened next was both a blur and crystal clear. The meat room, the train cars, the walkers, Rick with a machine gun, the wide-spread death. It was terrifying. It was satisfying. It was absolute. Rick gave no quarter and Daryl let it happen. It was like watching the grim reaper. It was justice.

All of Terminus had turned into a slaughterhouse.

_Karma._

Daryl buried his face into Carol's shoulder and wrapped his arms around her tight. She was alive. She was whole. She was real. Emotions choked him. Took his breath. He didn't want to let go.

But she did.

Daryl looked up, overwhelmed, when Carol broke the embrace. Saw her tears and the sadness clear on her face. He tried to pull her back and say those things he had wanted to say. All those things that wouldn't form words.

_Where were you? I went to our place, our meeting place._

His heart broke when she pushed him back a second time. His heart soared when she smiled and cupped his face. He fell into her, spent.

_The place, it was empty. Why didn't you come? _

_I missed you. I needed you._

None of words came out. They all burned in his chest, unspoken. Something was wrong.

The feeling doubled when Carol gave handed him the crossbow and wouldn't meet his eye. It tripled when she purposefully walked on the other side of the line. Something was wrong. He just knew it.

When the emotions were high and joyful and full of happy tears, Daryl tore his eyes away from the rejoined families to notice the death and destruction that painted all the ground surrounding the shack. Put down walkers lay impaled and smashed and ripped apart, literally covering every square foot. There were so many that Daryl couldn't get a count, not that he really tried.

All the woods around them were a slaughterhouse.

Daryl slipped inside the shack while everyone else was still embracing. He tried not to see Carol move to the edge of the woods and look at the others warily. Something was wrong. She was pulling away.

He'd have to keep an eye on her.

Inside the shack looked like a tornado had gone through. Papers littered every surface. Broken furniture pieces were strewn around like jack straws. A spray of blood painted one wall.

In the center of the aftermath sat a small crate with a baby blanket half hanging over the edge. Ground zero.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened in here. Daryl knew full well what the big man was capable of when the winds blew just right, when he had something to protect. Daryl was grateful that Tyrese had chosen Judith. More than grateful.

Moving quickly around the room, Daryl pocketed the few can goods and a box of crackers left on the shelves. He found a book of matches and snagged a pristine roll of toilet paper. He fingered the handheld radio before grabbing it too. Tiny flecks of blood littered it's surface. Daryl snatched up a handful of papers and wiped it clean. Wiped his hands clean.

Of course, his hands would never be completely clean.

The last thing Daryl took from the room was the baby blanket from the crate. The yellow and pink and blue blanket was so soft that the fibers caught on the rough skin of his hand. Under the blanket was a tiny plastic object. It was one of Judith's pacifiers, probably her last one.

Even though Judith's Binky was clean and new, Daryl couldn't help but see that so-similar one lying in its own pool of blood back at the slaughterhouse. He couldn't stop the chill of premonition roll down his spine like spiders.

After three hesitant reaches, Daryl gritted his teeth and grabbed the baby soother. His skin crawled at the feel the soft nipple. He called himself a coward as he did so. He was a superstitious moron. He shoved the feeling deep down inside.

Daryl gave the room a quick survey and slipped back outside. He made one more round of the carnage and took note that not one of the bodies was fresh. Tyresse had let the man go. Daryl didn't know how that made him feel. Couldn't help the crawl of worry warring with the spiders on his spine.

They needed to go. It was time to leave the slaughterhouse behind. Daryl rounded the group once more, taking care to check out and touch each one.

Made sure that they were real. That they were safe.

He noticed that Carol seemed more at ease. Maybe things would be alright.

They'd be alright.

When Rick gave the signal to move on out, Daryl finally made his way over to Judith. She was riding happily in Carl's arms, tugging on the brim of his hat.

"Won't be long and she'll be stealing that lid right off of you," Daryl offered, as he fell into step. He had yet to touch the baby. He was afraid to. "Then you'll never get it back."

Carl laughed and hitched Judith higher. "Yeah, I can just imagine her running around wearing the thing. Do you think she'll start walking soon?"

"Askin' the wrong person," Daryl muttered good-naturedly. His feelings of worry eased the further they got away. "Ain't got no idea."

"Is that Judith's blanket?" Carl asked with a nod. "The one with the yellow ducks? It's her favorite."

Daryl handed over the blanket and after a small hesitation, the pacifier as well. He tried not to let the shiver he felt show on his face when Judith snatched the small object and gleefully stuck it in her mouth. When the baby laughed, he tried not to flinch.

They weren't in the slaughterhouse anymore, he told himself. There was no blood here. They'd all keep the baby alive.

With a shaky finger, Daryl reached out and stroked Judith's soft cheek in time with his steps. The baby grinned at him around the Binky in her mouth. Daryl stoked her again, bolder.

Feeling the prickle of hairs on the back of his neck, Daryl dropped his hand and looked around. He scanned the woods and the trail and found no one. Nothing. Just his own people being together, walking in sync. Peaceful.

That's when Daryl realized that Carol a watching him with a knowing look to her eye. Like she could read his mind and knew his fears. Just as Daryl could read the wasteland of emotions through her own eyes. She looked just as haunted as he felt.

Daryl gave Carol a nod and tried to muster up a little smile for her. Across the group, he saw her do the same. He'd watch out for her and she would for him. They were each other's safe place.

Yep, that job at the slaughterhouse was about the worst damn job he had ever had in his life. It had stayed with him all these years. As Daryl moved on with the group, his family now made complete, Daryl realized that today wouldn't ever leave him either.

Without really thinking, Daryl stepped out of line and bulls eyed a grey squirrel scolding them from a pine tree. Got the varmint right in the heart. Killed it quick. Two more steps, he shot a second one further up.

At least tonight they'd have some meat.

_fini_

**AN: I hope you enjoyed my little macabre tale. It seemed appropriate with the flavor of the season so far. I'm a little worried for our survivors this season. And if anyone knows Nicotero personally? I'd like to invite the man to dinner. I'm a fine cook. Of course, I'll be serving BBQ.**

**I hope you all drop me a line and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination**


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